


The Late Show

by SardonicShipper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baby Sam, F/M, Gen, Kid Dean, Marital Troubles, Nightmares, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3572564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SardonicShipper/pseuds/SardonicShipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary thinks about her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Late Show

Mary didn’t really like most TV.

Maybe it was the memory of her father dismissively calling it “loud pictures in a box.” Maybe it was the time John spent watching  _Police Woman_  with the volume up too high, even though he was too busy staring at Angie Dickinson’s tight outfits to pay attention to the dialogue anyway. Maybe it was the memory of watching her mother watch soaps, her mother knowing every storyline and character history like the back of her hand, like they were her family, which, in a way, they were. Mary had resented those soaps, wondered if her mother had as much love for her as she did for Amy Ames or Patti Barron and their endless teenage angst. Now she wished she’d sat and talked with her mother about them, tried to understand.

She and John went out to the movies sometimes, but not too often. Mary said it was because of money, which was partially true, but she always felt like she was being followed. She imagined her purse falling open and people seeing the small silver dagger and the flask of holy water, and taking her away as a drunk on a killing spree. 

She’d liked  _Foul Play_. Chevy Chase was annoying, but in his sweet and goofy moments, he’d reminded her a little of John sometimes, when John forgot about the bills and the pressures of being the type of husband she’d never wanted but he felt he had to be. 

Her favorite scenes were when Goldie Hawn drove that tiny little car along the coastline. To Mary, that meant freedom. A job, and a job she chose, not one forced on her because of her last name. Friends, real friends. People in her life who cared. Adventures, but always adventures with a happy ending, where everyone who was supposed to live did, and where death was a rare surprise, not a lingering stench.

She remembered when one of her girlfriends - or the closest she’d ever had to one - had given her a 45 of “Tell Her No”, by The Zombies. Her father had been half-convinced this was some plot for an undead invasion - Mom used to joke that he’d lost the last of his hair when  _Night of the Living Dead_  came out - but Mary had reassured him it was just a pop song. (at the time she’d wanted to roll her eyes, but his rage had frightened her - even now, years after his death, sometimes she still laid in bed, trapped in some vague, amorphous memories of how hard she and her mother had worked to keep him calm) And to most people, it was. To her, it was an escape, but not one of those tinny little songs about holding her hand or buying her love. The song was confusing, complex, and the more she listened, the more she felt like it was calling to her, begging her to leave while she still could.

She loved John, she always would, but sometimes she wanted to pack a small bag while he was at the garage, and get on the next bus out of town. She didn’t know where. She didn’t care. Anywhere. Even now, with Dean, she could do it. And when she felt safe, she would tell John where they were, where to find them.

Sometimes, she even started putting her clothes together, figuring out how much money she would need, when she’d feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, like there was a hand pressing against her throat, gently but firmly, whispering, “I’ll always know where you are.” 

She’d quietly put everything back in its place, and go sit in Dean’s nursery, watching him sleep, hoping her tears wouldn’t wake him. He always knew when she was upset, like some instinct.

Mary knew most mothers had their happiest bonding moments singing lullabies, and Mary did (try to) sing lullabies, but many of her favorite times with Dean were spent watching the Late Show. Not every night - the nights he could sleep through, she watched the grainy images on her own. But it always felt more special when she was with him.

White tie and tails, all-singing-and-dancing, gum-smacking molls and gun-toting mobsters, war movies, wisecracking husband and wife detective teams, lush period pictures with rolling green hills and valiant attempts at British accents. 

As Dean turned two and three, sometimes it seemed like the old movies were his only comfort. 

Mary knew how he felt.

He’d point at the TV during certain scenes, or if one of the cheesy commercials for the local car lot made him laugh. He lost himself completely in this other world, a world where everything wasn’t quicksand in the form of a frozen smile. 

He seemed to enjoy the car chases the most.

One night, when Dean managed to sleep through the night, Mary watched  _Dawn of the Dead._ She wondered what her father would have said about it. He might have exorcised the TV set. (it could probably use one, if Mary was being honest with herself) She thought he might have appreciated the honesty of the movie - there was no way out. No happy ending. Just one form or another of death. 

Instead of being frightened, or depressed, Mary’s main reaction was a sense of peace. The nihilism reminded her of was why she was never going to let her children become hunters, or even let them know what hunting was. They were going to have a future, and a life, of their own choice. She’d support anything they did. Anything. As long as it kept them safe and alive and happy. 

When Mary became pregnant with Sam, she was tired enough to sleep in most nights, and she felt closer to John than she had in a long time. She tried her best to make Dean feel like he was still special to her, and asked John to watch TV with him a few times. Luckily for John,  _Police Woman_  was back in reruns.

She began to have nightmares of yellow eyes. She began to remember that she’d been having those dreams for years, ever since her parents died. She didn’t know who to tell about them, because once she started talking, she’d have to tell everything, and she couldn’t do that, ever.

She wondered sometimes if Sam would ever watch TV with her and Dean, and how Dean would react. She didn’t really want them to feel like they had to share the same things. Certain things were special, unique.

A few weeks before Sam turned six months old, Dean wandered into his parents’ room, saying he’d had a bad dream. Mary almost asked him if it was about yellow eyes, but she stopped herself. John had had a long day and Mary knew he wasn’t going to react well, so she took Dean into the living room, pulled a blanket over them both, and turned on the TV.

They were showing  _French Connection_ …again.  _The_  car chase movie, they’d said at the time. She had no reason to doubt it. 

Dean pointed at the screen, and laughed, and was able to nod off a few minutes before the closing credits. Mary pulled him close to her, ruffling his hair.

The next morning, she woke up covered in the blanket. John had gotten Dean ready for school, checked on Sam for her, let her sleep in.

She gave him a bad breath kiss of gratitude before she went to freshen up.

"John, I want to take Dean to the movies for his birthday. They have special showings for kids. They’re cheap."

John just shrugged, basically his way of saying yes.

Mary smiled. No bad dreams, no worries. Just happiness and planning for the future. 

She’d fought too hard for this to have anything else.


End file.
